


Under the Same Star

by feveredsweetness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Christmas, Depressive Episode, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, Hannigram Holiday Gift Exchange, Hannigram Secret Santa, Hurt/Comfort, In which Hannibal isn't an asshole, M/M, Molly Graham mention, North star - Freeform, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall, Romance, Tumblr: hannigramholidayexchange, Will Graham's dogs mention, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9026560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feveredsweetness/pseuds/feveredsweetness
Summary: Hannibal and Will share their first Christmas together. Will suffers an episode. Hannibal provides safety.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verybadidea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadidea/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, lovely! And Happy Hannidays to Fannibals everywhere! <3
> 
> Kudos and comments welcome! xx

Christmas, for as long as Will Graham can remember, has been far from merry or anything that festive propaganda has made the holiday out to be. Having been jostled around from place to place as a child, the most banner year he ever had during that period was when his father had been in a pleasant enough mood to have allowed him his first taste of whiskey in celebration of having been able to afford an actually edible, non-microwavable meal for their holiday dinner. 

As an adult, Will had chosen to approach Christmas more optimistically considering he then had his own home along with a stable income. He may not have been affluent, but he could afford a tree and some decorations all the same.

If anything, in the end, he attempted to provide comfort and joy to his beloved strays and eventually, Molly and Walter. Despite having crafted some warm memories, however, Christmas joy itself never managed to come home to his heart. The world of blood smeared madness always tainted the purity that was offered him. 

Will flinches as the harsh truth of this strikes right through him. The faces of every poor, sad victim he ever fought for flash vividly behind tightly pinched eyes. Splayed, rough fingers mask his face as his breath withdraws from his lungs like a syringe removing unwanted fluid, only the pain pulses and radiates down to his very marrow.

His stomach curls into itself, tugging along his heart as he realizes not even his strays can rescue him from such perilous tides. Molly tends to them now, wherever she and the family may have relocated to. He knew in the pit of his heart that the home she had shared with him had grown overcrowded with reminders of his existence. He didn’t blame her. Life had enough ghosts without him adding to the population.

He is alone.

His jaw clenches as the muscles throughout his body twinge, clammy sweat slicking down his hair to his forehead. He struggles to hang on, saliva squelching between his teeth. With a hard, dry swallow, he attempts to ground himself only to find his larynx cut off and his chest caving in.

_I can feel my heartbeat. I can feel my breath. I am safe. I am loved._

_I can feel my heartbeat. I can feel my breath. I am safe. I am loved._

_I am safe. I am loved._

_I am safe…I…I…_

Everything short circuits. 

Every ounce of warmth cruelly abandons his frame; each corridor in his mind deteriorating into mere splintered archways and webbed fractured concrete. 

Absence takes over; smothering whatever fight in Will feebly remains.

A metallic clatter sounds beneath him, though he keeps still with his knees folded under him on the leather chair he typically does not favor, though Hannibal always had.  


_Hannibal._

Exhaustion coerces him into stagnant submission.

The sun shining through the bay window before him eventually rescinds its golden, consoling reach as it gradually dips into the mute grey horizon ahead. 

The wood paneled house surrounding the man breathes and wheezes around him as pipes groan under the threat of winter’s sting, and the main furnace resignedly grumbles back to heated life. 

Time slinks by quietly, easily insignificant in comparison to the shroud of past troubles haunting the man turned to anguish birthed stone. 

The sound of keys working the front door’s locks can be heard from where Will sits, yet go unregistered as everything else in his present world currently does. 

Hannibal opens the door and crosses the threshold, frowning at the creaking sound produced, making a mental note to resolve the issue tomorrow. 

He shrugs off his brown wool coat and hangs it on the designated branch of the coat rack that prior tenants had left. Toeing off his shoes, he turns to face an enshrouding darkness.

His predatory side stalks forward as he listens for any sign of disruption or distress.

Eyes narrowed, he gracefully takes calculated steps from the entryway to the sitting area.

“Will?” He calls. 

Silence answers. 

Hannibal’s lips descend into a frown, hardening his features as amber irises darken to tones of dried blood.

Proceeding to move through the lifeless room, he flips one of the switches nearby to allow light to flood back into the stretches of the living space. 

Tension releases from his muscles as his face slides into a more settled mask of concern. 

His gaze flicks from Will in his chair to the nightfall outside and back again. 

A sigh then slips between the seal of his mouth as he goes to close the distance between them.

Laying a gentle hand upon the younger man’s shoulder, Hannibal leans in and kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling soft, chocolate curls. 

“Mano mylimasis,” he breathes tenderly, rubbing his shoulder. “Do not wade into the quiet of the stream.”

Hannibal senses a shift within his beloved. A small smile pulls at his lips. 

“Numylėtinis, grįžti į mane,” he sings softly, as one would sing a lullaby, pressing a gentle kiss behind Will’s ear once more. His hand drifts from the younger man’s shoulder up to the hand that is hiding his face. He laces their fingers together before lovingly bringing the man’s hand to the side of his own face, placing it so that Will’s palm is cradling the dip of his angled cheek, hooking just under the soft flesh of his chin. 

The older man turns his head to soothingly place his lips at the heel of the other’s palm. 

Will’s breath audibly starts again in regular rhythm. His fingers flex and tighten around Hannibal’s in a sacred hold. 

“Štai kur tu,” Hannibal greets, kissing the back of his head, nestling once more into Will’s hair. 

“What happened, mano mylimasis?” He shuts his eyes in allowance of becoming more attuned to his partner, instinctively knowing that the other could not yet find his voice.

A low and heavy exhale is the only sound the younger man makes. 

Hannibal’s eyes flutter back open, searching, before his gaze falls upon the flask on the floor beneath the foot of the chair. The smell of whiskey mingled with fear burns through his nose.

Blinking in acceptance, without disturbing Will’s purchase on his face still and with his free hand, he reaches underneath the younger man’s jaw; memorizing the patches of stubble there prior to tilting it towards him. Bowing his head, Hannibal brushes his lips against the man’s and lingers there for as long as it takes for his lover to respond. 

It isn’t long until Will thaws further, swimming back to present shores. 

Smooth though slightly chapped lips work against the ones firmly planted against them and part, leading Hannibal to seize the moment to breathe into him, causing Will to be at further ease as he catches his lover’s breath, drinking him in. 

Upon parting, Will’s stare swims with jubilant affection, bringing the blue back to a piercing desert sky. 

“You’re here.” He says fondly yet hazily.

The man before him chastely places his lips on his again in reassurance.

“Come with me, Will.”  
= = =  
Winter caresses Will’s hands and bare throat, a swift and tender breeze rustling his hair as Hannibal leads him down the short slope of a small hill to an expanse of glimmering snow resting on a field.

In the springtime its vibrancy keeps Will in its company for hours at time, providing tranquility similar yet stronger to the one the stream in Wolf Trap had bestowed. 

Hannibal squeezes his beloved’s hand, playfully peering at him from the corner of his eye. He knows that Will does the same after he shifts his gaze back to the blanketed land around them. 

He has them stop dead center, eyes worshipping the heavens above. 

“Look there, Will,” he tells him softly, nodding upwards. Ashen blonde hair sweeps over his forehead from the crisp wind, softening his features, turning him younger in appearance. 

The younger man’s gaze follows and locks onto what he knows the other is presenting to him. 

The North Star. 

He sucks in his lower lip, eyes glinting in appreciation. 

“I will always be your guide, mylimasis.”

Hannibal turns to directly face him, a smile reaching the very corners of his eyes as the truth of it spreads throughout his broad chest, keeping the cold at bay.

He steals a moment to study how the ongoing snowfall gathers in the other’s hair, making it appear ever more inviting while simultaneously accentuating the essence of divinity Hannibal had astutely practiced committing to paper since their early beginnings. 

“You’ve always been my guide, Hannibal,” Will says wistfully before making eye contact and turning completely towards him. “And I have always followed. I always will.”

He pauses, his tongue sweeping over the seam of his mouth, jaw working slightly as a grin begins to bloom. 

“I used to wonder if our stars were the same.”

“Now you know the answer,” the other pleasantly states, accent thickened with euphoria. 

Will gives a short nod, confirming, as the grin spreads further across his face, joyful lines branching out around his eyes. It’s contagious. 

The younger man moves forward, closing the gap between them. His hand reaches around the other’s neck, cradling the back of his head, threading fingers through ashen blonde hair peppered with accumulated snowflakes. 

Nuzzling his cheek, he lowers his mouth over Hannibal’s, ghosting there for a moment prior to claiming his lips entirely and passionately. 

The reciprocation matches in ardor. They part to catch their breath, puffs of their exhalations kissing the air around them. 

“Merry Christmas, numylėtinis.” 

Will’s heart swells, an absent tiding now prominently present as it flourishes through him in abundance. Tears threaten to surface.

“Merry Christmas, Hannibal,” he answers, holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Mano mylimasis= My beloved.  
> Numylėtinis, grįžti į mane= Darling, return to me.  
> Štai kur tu=There you are.


End file.
